


The Underside Is Lighter

by FidgeMimic



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caleb is too sleepy to make a proper appearance, Dealing With Trauma, Drabbles, Drinking, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mentions of Trent Ikithon, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, attempted hurt/comfort, emotional avoidance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 18:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18555340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FidgeMimic/pseuds/FidgeMimic
Summary: There are nine of them now, and no one is really sure how they're going to do this.But they'll try.(A series of disconnected one-shots centered on The Mighty Nein and their new very, very broken wizards.)





	1. Gleichen

**Author's Note:**

> Beauregard & Astrid
> 
> Prompt: Someone other than Caleb saying "I was so sure, until I wasn't."

“You know, I was so sure,” She says, and Beau’s neck almost snaps from how quickly she whips her head around to look at Astrid. The other woman is looking into her drink, eyes glazed and face flushed after three rounds of thick, strong liquor. “I was so sure… until I wasn’t.”

Beau wonders if the three of them had this conversation, or if the unnerving wavelength they all seem to be on is really this strong.

There’s a moment of silence where Astrid brings the stein to her lips, knocking back the last of her drink before slamming it onto the table. There’s a look of disgust on her face, a deep scowl that draws lines across her features and suddenly she looks old, and tired, and nauseated.

“We **knew**.” She hisses, fingers tapping against the body of the glass in an rapid, anxious beat. “We **knew** that something was wrong, but by that point it was too late. We were cowards.”

_You were kids._

“You want to expand on that?”

Astrid’s gaze snaps to meet hers and she glares as if Beau had intruded on a private conversation. At this point, with how completely wasted the woman is, Beau thinks she might’ve.

There’s another long beat before Astrid leans in.

“Would you like to know a secret, Beauregard?”

_Not really._ She thinks as she leans in to meet her. It feels like a game - like children getting ready to share secrets. But Astrid is staring at her with wide, manic eyes and a grin that shows too many teeth, and Beau can’t help but feel like she’s being stared down by a wild animal.

The woman in front of her giggles a little bit, unhinged and nearly tearful, before speaking in a low voice as if trying to keep the other drunk and half-asleep patrons from hearing them over the dull roar of the tavern.

“When we were graduating - during the ceremony - _I thought I was going to die_.” She laughs, still maintaining eye contact. “Everyone there: the faculty, the students, the representatives from the assembly- _they all wanted me dead_ _.”_

“What?” Beau blinks, confusion breaking past the voice in the back of her head, warning not to encourage her. “What do you mean 'they wanted you dead'?”

“I know it wasn’t real, I know, but all I could see was-” There’s a pause where she sways, and Beau nearly reaches out to steady her before Astrid swallows thickly and seems to regain her faculties. “-they were _angry - disgusted -_ they wanted me _dead_ because _I was a monster and they knew what I had done.”_

Beau is silent for a moment, giving Astrid the time blink away the angry tears in her eyes. She takes a swig of her own drink to give Astrid an opening to reach up and wipe away the one that had escaped to run down her flushed cheek. “I thought that they wanted you to do it. That it was ‘for the good of the Empire’ or some shit.”

“They might have,” She mutters, “I don’t know. I just know that _I knew_. Even then I knew. I knew that we had done something terrible. That we were horrible people for it - I just couldn’t figure out why until recently.”

“But you know now, right?” This won’t work. It hadn’t worked for Caleb - not really - and she doesn’t think it’ll work on Astrid either, but it’s at least worth a shot, even as Astrid shoots her a look that sits oddly between sorrow and annoyance. “Okay, just hear me out-”

“I really would rather not, at this point-”

“No, listen - _you_ ,” Beau points at Astrid, her finger getting close enough to tapping the woman’s nose to warrant her scrunching up her face, “are here now. With us. With Caleb. And I know that it’s not easy to hear this, but you’ve already gone way farther towards fixing your shit than you thi- _don’t you fuckin look at me like that.”_

Astrid dramatically rolls her eyes, rising with a small amount of visible effort to keep herself from toppling over immediately. “I hope you know that I don’t care for your coddling, Beauregard.” She says with less venom than both of them really expect given the circumstances.

“It’s not _coddling._ Like do you _really_ think anyone expected you two to go with us? You guys got _out_. That takes some balls.”

“I hate this conversation. I am ending it and going to bed.” Beau takes her own turn to roll her eyes dramatically. Taking another deep pull of her liquor, she watches as Astrid slowly makes her way to the stairs leading up to the rooms, and lets her fall into a table only twice before getting up to follow her.

When she puts her arm around Astrid’s waist, the woman grumbles at her in slurred Zemnian, but allows her to carry most of her weight regardless. By the time they reach the proper floor, Astrid’s hardly able to keep her eyes open, and dragging her to her room is quickly becoming more of a chore than it should be with someone who weighs so little.

At the very least, the door isn’t locked. All it takes is a quick bit of maneuvering to open it and let the dim light from the hallway break through the dark of the room.

The left half where a bed should have been is bare, save for a messy piles of clothes and three rucksacks. To the right, where two single beds have been pushed together, a form shifts. Even with her limited vision the soft torchlight from the hallway filters in enough for her to see Wulf's russet skin and thick black hair pulled into a sloppy braid. Something – someone – shifts behind him and pulls the covers up higher with a low groan.

“She’s shitfaced.” Beau says, slowly pulling Astrid into the room. “Put her on the outside.”

She gets a low hum in response as Eodwulf shifts closer to the wall, pushing back the second form - Caleb - who shifts with little resistance until he’s flush against the wall. Between her and Eodwulf’s slow care, the two of them remove Astrid’s boots and cloak, lying her down facing the edge of the bed. The woman hardly shifts with how deep her sleep is.

She doesn’t stick around to watch the three of them readjust themselves back into a comfortable pile.

As she goes to close the door, a voice rings out – to low and smooth to be Caleb.

“Beauregard,” She looks up, and his eyes are still half lidded, but they're unmistakable focused on her now, “Is she alright?”

“I mean.. not really.” She says, opting not to lie to him right now. “We talked for a minute, though. She’s probably not as bad off as she was, I guess.”

She doesn’t get a response immediately, but she knows she’s being watched still. It’s unnerving - having two of the Empire’s most notorious battle mages with them now.

If he wanted her dead, he could probably kill her while half awake from 20 feet away like this.

But she hears a deep, tired sigh, and she thinks she can see him shift to thread his fingers through her frizzy curls absently.

“She.. does not talk much. Thank you for listening.”

“It's whatever.” She shrugs. “Anyway – 'night.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh. “Good night.”

She closes the door and leaves the three of them to rest.

 


	2. Weiderholung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a long moment after the healing, Eodwulf is alone (almost).
> 
> [TW for suicide mention]

They’re alone now. After hours and hours of being coddled and watched and fawned over as if they were a couple of filthy, abused strays-

They’re alone. And the room is quiet - their room - the spare that the band of strangers had let them use for the time being. And it’s just them. Just-

Just him.

It’s just him right now.

He’s sat cross legged on the bed, every ounce of energy gone from him to the point where he can hardly sit up straight. The overbearing rush of people talking over them, asking them questions and commenting about them as if they weren’t there still feels like a weight hours later. Like stone piled high on top of him - squeezing the breath from him and threatening to break every bone in his body.

It’s not something he’s entirely unused to. But now, after the healing-

After the- the curse-

The modify memory-

His head hurts.

He struggles to swallow through the lump in his throat.

He looks at Astrid.

Astrid, who had been - not fine, they haven’t been fine since they saw Bren again. Bren, who had torn out his own throat when the orderlies had failed to cut his nails properly while under their care. Bren, who had been found dead hours after the fact, face down in his own blood. Bren, who’s body they had been shown to prove to them that there was no use focusing on those who were too weak to survive.

Astrid hasn’t been fine in -

\- a while.

He hasn’t either, if he’s entirely honesty.

But at least she was Here.

Eodwulf swallows thickly again. His hands clench and unclench in his lap. His fingers feel cold, but even that feels far away right now.

“ Astrid.”

He lowers his head, trying to catch her gaze with his, but her eyes are distant and watery. She blinks slowly, tears spilling over rolling down the wet lines on her cheeks. She doesn’t move.

He wants to kill them.

He should storm down there. Right now. Find the clerics and hold them down and take them apart piece by piece. He should split them all open - each and every one of them - for - for doing  _ this  _ to her - for taking her from him like this because he can’t take this again - he can’t bare to see another person he loves like this _. Not when he had to sit there for fucking years watching Bren rot away with this same empty fucking look on his face. _

He chokes on a sob. Reaching out, he can feel more than see how badly his hands are shaking through the thick film of tears in his eyes. Everything is just shapes and colors through the wetness.

Everything-

Everything  _ hurts _ .

His chest, his stomach, his throat, his head - it’s all-

He takes her face in his hands and rubs his thumb along her cheek, wiping the cold wetness that’s been staining her face for the last few hours.

She doesn’t move.

This feels-

-familiar.

He thinks he might vomit.

“ _ Astrid, bitte,”  _ he chokes out, voice weak and broken and so, so desperate, “ _ Du musst zurückkommen. I-Ich-”  _ He sobs _ , “Ich kann das nicht alleine machen.” _

_ Quiet. _

_ He has to be quiet. _

He wants to pull her close so badly. Wants to wrap his arms around her as tightly as he can just in the hopes that she’ll snap out of it and yell at him for ‘trying to break her damn spine, again’. He wants to lie down with his ear to her chest, just to make sure her heart hasn’t stopped, just to hear something more even than the rapid pounding of his own, drowning out everything else.

He wants to bury his face in her shoulder and weep. Every fiber of his being is against him. He can’t stop shaking, can’t stop the rapid beat of his heart, can’t stop the anxious churn of his stomach. Everything is too much - it’s too much and he can hardly breathe through the lump in his throat. The tears haven’t stopped spilling, and he feels like maybe they never will. He’s not sure if he wants to cry for Astrid - dead to the world - or Bren - left and forgotten for years - or himself - lied to and manipulated and torn apart just to be put back in the image of the empire - or his p-

no-

_ no no no no no no no– _

He wants to scream. At each and every one of them. He wants to kick and punch and shriek and make sure that they all know that they did this to her. That this is  _ their fault  _ and that he’s not going to let them get away with it.

He wants to hurt somebody.

Anybody.

Instead, he coaxes Astrid into moving. There’s no difficulty in it - she lies down above the covers easily enough, resting her head on the surprisingly soft pillows at the head of the bed. He makes sure she’s facing him - he wants to be able to see the moment when she wakes up-

-if she wakes up-

~~ -”please wake up-”- ~~

\- before he lies himself down next to her.

He watches her carefully - kept awake by the anxiety and exhaustion just as much as the latter tries to drag him down into unconsciousness. He’s been focused on her, ever since the spells had been cast, with little time to worry about his own mental state in the aftermath.

He doesn’t want to know what he’s going to dream of if he falls asleep.

He already knows, of course, but…

Reaching out, he takes her hand. It’s so cold, even in his own, and he can’t help the spike of worry that jolts through him. He brings her hand to his lips and kisses them once, soft and delicate, before reaching out to grab her other hand and holding them to his chest. He naturally runs cold - so much so that Astrid has spent the last 16 years yelling at him about his wandering hands and feet in the dead of night.

He’s worried. Bren’s hands had been cold, too.

“ Liebling,” He whispers, soft and tired in the dark of their shared room. Completely alone with no one else to hear them. She doesn’t move, but Eodwulf hadn’t expected her to. “I need you to wake up. I don’t-”

There’s no sob this time. He’s managed to push back the horrible familiar feeling of fear and despair for the time being. Compartmentalizing is taxing right now, but at least it’s something that he has familiarity with. It’s one thing that he knows well.Instead, he sighs. Loud and long.

He’s so, so tired.

“ I need you to wake up, because I can’t do this without you.”

He squeezes her hands softly. Wonders if she can feel them, and lies there for as long as he can, fighting the way his eyelids droop. He feels horrible. An unending feeling of Wrong that permeates every fiber of his being that only seems to get worse with each passing moment. His eyes burn.

He closes them, hoping that once the nightmares are over, he won’t have to deal with this horrible feeling seeping into every part of him.

Sleep comes for him quickly. And as he’s drifting, he can faintly feel something shift beside him. Her hands fidget in his, and for a second the feeling of pressure - of hands around his own squeezing back softly is nearly enough to wake him back up.

He already feels so far gone.

In the space right before unconsciousness, he can feel one of her hands leave his, before it rests against his cheek, soft and so, so kind. The press of her thumb against his cheek, gently running over the dried lines of tears is enough to pull a weak smile from him.

He drifts, and prays for a dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a simple bitch - I want weird A&E join The Mighty Nein fic, so I write it. 
> 
> Thank you to:  
> -Tumblr user Mossystep for the prompt!  
> -AO3 user Flannelunicorn for being my beta reader!  
> -The Blumenkrew/All Three Of Us Discord for giving me all this sweet nasty fuel!
> 
> This is the first piece of writing I've ever properly tried to make into a coherent fic format, so I'm more than open to constructive crit!


End file.
